


Not Wasted Now

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 05:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14325555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: When you all decide to get drunk in the aftermath of a bad hunt, lines get a little blurred. Or crossed. Or fucking erased. Fluffy, smutty, comforting, sweet & sexy Dean.





	Not Wasted Now

Huge sigh of relief.

You would think, as big as the bunker is, that it would be easy to hide away somewhere, be left alone for a while. But the Winchester boys seem to have a way of knowing when you’re stressed out, or upset, or pissed off at the world, even when you really don’t want to draw their attention. You’ve managed to quietly escape to the garage, though, and so far nobody has followed.

It’s just been one of those weeks, the ones that seem to scream at you that you can never do anything right, that you should just stay in bed and pull the covers over your head and hide. It seems like everything you’ve touched broke or fell apart, including you burning the supper one night and scratching the Impala when you went to move your car. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

You had trudged back into the bunker the day before feeling defeated, the loss of two innocent people weighing heavily on all three of you. You’re feeling guilty as hell for letting yourself get caught and tied up, unable to help save anyone and having to be rescued yourself in the end. You had been beaten unconscious, left dangling from your bonds while the pair of vetala you were hunting fed on one of their victims.  Right or wrong, you felt as if you had failed the ones you were trying to save, failed Sam and Dean. You’re second-guessing every move you made, accusing yourself of carelessness, stupidity, lack of judgment. And you feel as if Dean’s avoiding you, which encourages even more self-recrimination, and you let yourself wallow in it.

You crawl into the back seat of your car, slumping down into the worn upholstery and finally letting the tears fall. Your throat aches with the force of your emotions, choking sobs racking your body until you can barely breathe. You bury your face in the blanket that lays folded on the seat beside you and wail, feeling like an utter failure.

***

Your eyes fly open, the sound of your car door being yanked open startling you out of the dead sleep you had cried yourself into earlier. “Sam, I found her,” Dean spits into his phone as you blink at him, disoriented, your head pounding. “For fuck’s sake, you could have let us know where you were.” He’s pissed, and all you can manage to do is stare back at him, mute. His eyes move over you, and he swallows hard as he takes in your appearance, your swollen eyes, his jaw clenching as he backs his temper off. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet, hesitant. “You scared the hell out of us, Y/N. We’ve been looking all over the bunker for you.”

“I’m sorry. Seems like all I’m good for lately is fucking things up. I didn’t mean to worry you, I just needed to be alone for a while.” You can’t make yourself look at him, and after a couple of minutes of silence, he climbs into the back seat with you, leaving the door open.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, sweetheart?” he asks softly, and you look up into his concerned face, your eyes unbelievably filling with tears yet again.

“I blew it, Dean. I got myself caught, and we lost two people that I should have helped save. Everything I touch lately just turns to shit.” Your tears overflow as you continue, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Dean. I let you down, I let Sam down. I’m so sorry.” You can see your pain reflected in his eyes as he reaches for you, pulling you into his arms, and you cry quietly as he holds you tight.

“Listen to me. Sometimes things do go to shit, and sometimes the fucking monsters just get the drop on us. We do the best we can, Y/N, save as many people as we can, but we can’t save everybody. It sucks, it does, but that’s reality. At least they won’t get anybody else. And that’s something, right?” He squeezes you, resting his cheek against your hair, those big hands of his rubbing your back gently. “And you didn’t let anybody down, you hear me? I mean, you did put a mark on Baby, and you owe me for that, but...” You can’t help a soft sobbing laugh at his jab, and you can feel his face move as he smiles.

He holds you silently for a while, until you’re completely calm and almost dozing off in his arms. He drops a kiss on the top of your head and pulls back a little. “Listen. Why don’t you go take a long, hot shower, I’ll go make some of my fan-fucking-tastic gourmet burgers and we’ll all get shit-faced together.”

You tip your head back to look up at him, and he brushes a straggling tear away with his thumb. “That’s the best offer I’ve had all week,” you say, managing a weak smile, and he grins.

“That’s my girl.” He climbs out of the car, holding out a hand to help you out, and slings an arm over your shoulders as you head for the stairs.

“Fried potatoes, too?” you ask, shooting him a sideways glance, and he laughs.

“You got it, sweetheart.”

***

A few hours later and you’re all wasted, giggling until you can’t breathe at each other’s antics. It’s a relief to finally cut loose, lose control a little, clear away the tension that always comes with a bad hunt.  It hits early morning before things start to slow down, and you yawn, which infects Sam and Dean as well.

After a struggle, you finally make it to your feet, holding on to the table for support. “Well, it’s been fun, but I’m tired. And drunk. And sleepy.”

“I think we might all need help getting to our rooms, Y/N,” Sam says, lurching upright and staying vertical with some difficulty. “This is a group effort. C’mon, Dean.”

Dean grins his lopsided grin, more lopsided than usual, and pitches himself up out of his chair, grabbing your arm. “C’mon, sweetheart, we’ll walk you home like fuckin’ gentlemen. ‘Cuz we Winchesters are fuckin’ gentlemen. Right, Sammy?”

“Right, Dean.” Sam grabs the other arm, and you’re lucky not to be wish-boned as you all stagger at differing levels, unevenly swaying from one side of the hallway to the other and crashing into each other and the walls. None of you can stop laughing, stopping frequently and bending over to clutch your stomachs at how ridiculous you all are at the moment.

“Sammy, you can’t even walk right,” Dean manages to blurt out, wheezing for air as he slumps against the wall, helpless with laughter.

“Dude, Y/N is the only thing keeping you up, you’ve got no room to talk!” Sam snorts back, and you can’t even speak as you fight to catch your breath.

“Yeah, she keeps me up a lot,” Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows at you, and you swing at him, missing completely.

“You wish!” you sass, finally connecting a weak punch to his shoulder. Both men drop an arm around your shoulders, and you stumble your way forward once again. You reach Sam’s room and he fumbles with the door, then almost falls inside.

“’Nighty-night,” he mushes out, then swings the door shut. You hear a crash, then a mumbled, “M’okay, just the fuckin’ lamp.” You and Dean bust out laughing yet again, and stagger on down the hall, Dean’s arm still around your shoulders.

You finally reach your door after several times being smashed into the wall by Dean’s much larger frame. “I’m gonna be covered in bruises tomorrow, you big clumsy doof,” you laugh, leaning with relief against your door. Dean’s eyes are blinking slowly, his arm up on the door frame as he gives you the drunken version of his most smoldering look.

“Got you home safe, didn’t I?”

“Well, you got me home alive, anyway,” you giggle, then get lost in those long-lashed green eyes, which are staring intently into yours.

“Y/N. Sweetheart. I wanna kiss you so damn bad,” he murmurs, leaning slowly in. You watch him draw closer, then close your eyes as his lips touch yours. He’s gentle, nibbling at your lips until you sigh, meeting his tongue with yours, and the next thing you know he’s pulled you close and your hands are clutching at the back of his shirt.

When he stops for a moment for both of you to catch your breath, his forehead leaning against yours, you giggle softly and reach behind you for the door knob. You almost end up in a pile of thrashing limbs on the floor, but manage somehow to stay upright. Dean kicks the door closed as you back up until the back of your legs hit the bed. You grab the front of his shirt, pulling him with you as you fall back, both of you laughing until his lips catch yours again and you lose yourself in him, your head spinning.

He raises his head, his hands braced on the bed on either side of you, staring down at you with an almost stunned look in his eyes. You take a shuddering breath and stare back at him, not breaking the silence until his tongue darts out over his lips and you exhale softly. “Dean… make love to me...” you whisper, pulling at his shirt. He resists, his expression changing, his lips pressed together and his eyes no longer meeting yours.

“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea, Y/N. We’re both drunk. Really drunk, and I don’t wanna do something that you might wish you could undo tomorrow morning.”

You’re still looking up at him as his eyes hesitantly meet yours again. “Are you afraid you might wish you could undo it?”

He pushes himself up, turning to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to you. “No.”

Your breathing stills as you stare at the plaid expanse of his back. “Dean?”

“I know what I want. But you…”

“What about me?” Your voice is hushed and unsure, your mind whirling in a hundred different directions.

“You’ve got choices. And I’ve got no right… You need to be thinking clear before this is gonna happen. IF. If this is gonna happen.” He stands suddenly and moves to the door, turning slightly towards you as he grips the knob. “’Night, Y/N.”

He walks out, pulling the door quietly closed behind him, and you stare blankly at the polished wood, wondering what the hell just happened.

***

Hangovers suck. You just want to sleep until it goes away, until your head stops pounding and your stomach stops churning. You hear a soft knock on the door, and you squint your eyes at the light coming in from the hall as Dean walks in.

“Hey,” he says quietly, setting a glass of what looks like tomato juice on your bedside table. “Brought you my best hangover cure. If you want it. Just – be prepared, sometimes the way to feel better is to puke up the poison.”

You groan, curling into a ball. “Ughhhhh. Thanks. I might try it later.” He stands there for a moment, and then you hear the door close softly as he leaves.

A few hours later you do finally manage, after the aforementioned puking and a long, hot shower, to venture back out into the bunker. Sam is sitting at the kitchen table alone. “You’re still alive! I was starting to wonder if I should find you and perform CPR.”

“It was close. Don’t ever let me do that again,” you reply, heading directly for the coffee pot. “I think Dean’s hangover cure flushed everything that I’ve eaten or drunk for the past week out of my system.”

“You actually drank that? You are one brave woman, Y/N.”

“Where is ‘arsenic and old flannel’ anyway?”

Sam laughs. “Haven’t seen much of him. We all kind of overdid ourselves last night, maybe he went back to bed.”

Sam leaves the room, and you take your time over your coffee, letting the heat and caffeine seep into your system. When it’s gone, you get up to leave, and then stop and smile. Maybe Dean could use a cup.

You fill a mug, then head for his room. You open the door quietly, hearing soft snores, and you smile to yourself again. You walk in, silent in your bare feet, and close the door, standing there for a moment to let your eyes adjust to the very faint light, Dean’s digital clock on his night stand the only source in the room. You set the cup down next to his phone, turning to look down at him. He’s lying on his stomach, his arms up under his pillow, his hair sticking up in all directions. The sheet is barely to his waist, and you let yourself fully appreciate the way his t-shirt is stretched across the expanse of his back, the muscles there and in his exposed biceps tempting you to touch him. But you have no desire to die today, or at the very least, end up on the floor with him sitting on your chest, so you refrain.

He stirs a little, the smell of the coffee reaching him, and he clears his throat as you take a step back. He turns his head slowly, one eye cracked open, peering up at you suspiciously. “Is that coffee I smell, or am I dreaming?”

“It’s coffee,” you say, smiling at his adorable sleepy face, and he groans a little as he moves, turning to his side and propping himself up on one elbow.

“You’re being pretty nice to me, considering what I gave you probably made you hurl your guts out.” He reaches for the mug, inhaling the fragrance and then taking a sip, moaning in appreciation.

“Well, that’s just the kind of girl I am. Awesome, sweet, loves to make people happy even if they try to poison her...”

He grins, then takes another drink of the nectar of the gods that you bestowed on him. “You are pretty awesome.”

He’s awake now, so you perch yourself on the edge of the mattress. “Thank you. And you’re welcome.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“You did warn me. And it did make me feel better, so...”

“Yeah, not fun, but - sometimes it’s the only way.”

He seems a little awkward, and he hasn’t looked you directly in the eye yet. But, since you’re a ‘rip the bandaid off quick’ kind of girl, you take a deep breath and attempt to say, sort of, what’s on your mind. “So, Dean… We’re not wasted now. And I’m pretty damn sure that even if I had been, I wouldn’t be wanting to undo anything. All I’ve been thinking about since I’ve been able to form thoughts today – granted, that hasn’t been too long – is how I wish it would have happened. And that I would have opened my eyes to see you next to me this morning. I just wanted you to know that. So… I guess I’ll leave you alone now.”

Since he still hasn’t looked at you, and you don’t know what else to say, you move, intending to stand and leave the room. But his hand shoots out and grips your wrist, halting you before you have a chance to rise. “Wait.”

You let your weight rest back on the mattress, your heart thumping hard in your chest. You’re nervously nibbling at your lip, waiting for him to speak, afraid to move or make a sound that might stop him before he starts. He finally looks up at you, and you stop breathing at the look in his eyes.

His lips are moving slightly, like he wants to say something but can’t quite get the words out. Then he curses softly under his breath and sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down on top of him as his lips meet yours.

The kiss is gentle, and thorough, and steals rational thought completely away. You cling to each other, awash in the flood of desire you have both kept dammed up for far too long. Dean whispers your name against your lips, and you whimper in reply, both of you taking in air before coming together again. His hands are kneading at your back, your waist, wherever he can reach, and then he rolls, pulling you beneath him, his lips moving to your throat, your neck, leaving you panting. “Dean,” you whisper, and he raises his head to look into your eyes, the raw emotion and want there mirroring what you are feeling.

“Are you sure?” One hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb tracing softly over your cheek and brushing over your lips.

“Yes. Make love to me, Dean. Please.”

He groans, his eyes closing for a moment, and then his lips crash into yours again, his hand finding its way beneath the hem of your shirt, his warm fingers grasping at your waist before moving upward. He cups your breast with a sigh into your kiss, moving his lips against yours in near desperation.

When he lifts his head again, you reach down for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and flinging it away. You reach behind you to unclasp your bra and pull it off as he watches with hungry eyes, bending to take your nipple into his mouth the second your hands are out of his way, and you arch your back as he suckles at you, his tongue massaging the sensitive flesh until the throbbing between your thighs is almost unbearable. You’re squirming beneath him, and he nips gently, eliciting a moan from you that earns one from him in return.

Before he moves on to your other breast, he stops for a moment and helps you pull your yoga pants and panties down, letting you struggle to finish kicking them off as he places a hand between your legs, squeezing a little before he begins to glide his fingers through your slick folds. He captures your swollen clit between two fingers, rubbing gently and driving you nearly mad. When he pulls your other nipple between his lips, dragging his teeth lightly over the hard nub, you buck against his hand and come, unexpected and powerful, and it takes your breath away.

He never stops touching you, kissing you, stroking over you, and you feel as if the high will never end. When he finally senses you calming, he puts just a little more pressure on your clit, and you whimper and squirm against him. You can feel him smile as he kisses the tender skin of your throat, and you can’t suppress the urge to beg a little. “Dean… please...”

The low rumble of laughter in his chest makes you clench your teeth at the wave of arousal, and he kisses his way up the side of your neck, nibbling at you until your insides feel warm and liquid. When he reaches the spot just below your ear, he bites down lightly and then whispers, sending shivers through you that you can’t hide. “Sweetheart, you asked me to make love to you, and that’s what I’m gonna do.” He nips, then sucks a little at your earlobe, making you whine softly again. “But later on...” he says, kissing and nibbling at you between words, “we can just fuck… ‘til we can’t walk.” You moan, deep and throaty, and then you’re pulling at him, crashing your lips into his and causing the same sound from him as you devour each other. He lets you have your way for a few minutes, then  pulls back and sets his lips and fingers back to work caressing every inch of your skin that he can reach. You throw your head back into the pillow, and he puts a strong forearm over your hips as he works his way down and your body tries to buck up into his touch.

“Oh, god…” When his mouth finally touches your pussy, his kisses warm and open-mouthed, his moans making you tremble, it takes only seconds for you to come undone again. You cry out, your body shaking uncontrollably as he licks and sucks at you, and he has barely begun to touch you with his hands. “Dean… oh my god… holy fuck… I can’t...” you mutter endlessly, incoherent fragments and curses, and when he slides two long, calloused fingers in to the last knuckle, you cry out.

“You feel so good, baby… so tight, and hot…” He moans, soft and low, his voice strained as he continues, “Baby, I’m ready to blow right now and I haven’t even gotten inside you yet. You’re making me crazy, sweetheart...”

You’re writhing beneath him now, softly begging him, but you don’t know what you’re begging for. He’s just watching his fingers disappear into you now, waiting for you to fall apart again, and it’s not far off. The tips of his fingers find your sweet spot, and he rubs relentlessly, sending sparks zipping through your limbs and right down to your fingers and toes. You’ve already pulled the sheets loose from the bed, and you’re almost desperate for something to clutch, an anchor to keep you from losing your mind to the unceasing waves of pleasure.

“DEAN!!!” You shout his name as he pulls your clit between his lips and sucks, hard. He holds your lower body down, but still you thrash and shake violently, your eyes screwed shut tight and your brain function ceasing completely, incoherent moans and whimpers the only sounds you are capable of at the moment. When you’re once again beginning to be aware of your surroundings, Dean is holding you in his arms, kissing tears from your face that you don’t even remember shedding.

“You all right, baby?” he asks, and you draw a long, shaky breath.

“Who are you?” you ask, your brows bunching in confusion, and his eyes grow wide for a split second before you give him a lopsided grin and he gives you his scariest mock frown.

“You little...” You can’t help giggling, even as you apologize, and his expression melts into a naughty smile. “Just for that, I’m gonna make you come again - on my cock. What do you think of that?”

“Ohhh, that’ll straighten me right out,” you say, as serious as you can manage, and he narrows his eyes at you before attacking, tickling you breathless. “Stop!! Dean, please, stop,” you laugh, and he finally does, looking down at you as you catch your breath. His smile fades slowly as he pulls you close, one hand cradling your face as he kisses you like he intends to do it for hours, languid and sexy, leaving you dizzy with want.  

Suddenly you have no more patience, and you begin to shove his shirt up his body until he has no option but to stop and pull it over his head. Before his arms are free, you are yanking his boxer briefs down to his knees, wrapping your hand around him and taking his breath away for a change.

You stroke over him a few times, but he grabs your wrist and frees himself, pushing you gently to your back. “You know where I wanna be when I come,” he growls, and then he’s fitting himself between your welcoming thighs and pushing in slow, hot and hard, completing you and yet leaving you desperately craving more.

Your voice is raspy as you speak. “Are we at the fucking part now? I don’t think I wanna wait any more.”

He groans from the depths of his gut, then drops his head, kisses you hard and hungry as he begins to move. The drag and pull of him within you makes you spasm around him, and you both lose control, struggling to get ever closer, deeper, harder. He’s slamming into you, and you are meeting him at every thrust, your throat raw as you gasp for air, his head thrown back and his teeth clenched with his effort. “I’m gonna come, baby… you gotta come for me, one last time. Ohhhh, fuck, NOW!”  You do, your body gripping him tight as he swells and pounds into you. You can feel every sensation as he throbs, his heat filling you and making you shudder and clench your thighs around him. You both grow still as he holds himself deep inside you, neither of you wanting to move, but finally you have to loosen your grip on each other and collapse.

He finally musters the energy to raise himself up and move, and you sigh sadly as he leaves you. Both of you lie, spread eagle, on the bed, exhausted and well-satisfied, his fingers lacing through yours. After a few moments, you shiver and he pulls you into his arms, covering you both, sighing contentedly as you tuck your head onto his shoulder and he kisses your forehead gently.

***

It’s almost evening when you finally roll out of Dean’s bed, pulling on your clothes and stepping out into the hall. Sam comes out from his room as Dean puts his arms around you and kisses you, and he calls out to you both.

“It’s about fuckin’ time.”

You turn to face him with a self-conscious smile and a blush, and you raise a curious eyebrow at the stack of boxes outside the door. “What’s up? Spring cleaning?”

He grins back at the two of you as you stand there with Dean behind you, his arms wrapped around you. “Listen. I’m all for you two finally – FINALLY – getting together. But I’m moving my room to  the other side of the bunker, because I definitely don’t need to hear you every night.” 

“And because you’re about to hit on that sexy bartender from Mickey’s.” Dean has a smirk on his face, and you look back at Sam as he ducks his head, his dimples evident and his neck red.

“Yeah. Maybe. Maybe I don’t want you to hear me, either.”

Dean nods in agreement, grinning, tightening his arms around you a little. “So. Who’s up for a drink?” You and Sam moan, long and loud, and he laughs. “I’m kidding. How about pizza?”

You nod. “Yeah. Pizza we can do.”

Dean leans down to whisper in your ear. “And then… dessert.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 


End file.
